The Last Time
by Jck'sBrknHeart
Summary: Set after 'The First Time.' Dennis agrees to help Cyrus under one condition.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Th13teen Ghosts, nor any of the characters related to the film.

**Author's Note: **Meant to accompany 'The First Time' as the female character is the same as in that story. If you haven't read it, please do but I suppose you won't be too lost if you don't, either.

* * *

Dennis Rafkin sat at the end of a long, wooden counter in a bar where the stench of sweat and whiskey was more than common. A glass of the amber liquid sat at his own fingertips as he thought, with his eyes closed, about all the things that had happened as of late. He didn't want to believe the newspaper; it simply wasn't possible that she had died.

He touched the shot glass to his lips, inhaled the liquor, and shook his head in response to the strong drink. When he opened his blue eyes, he noticed the appearance of an older man to the direct left of him, though there were plenty of open seats available.

Dennis turned and stared at the man questioningly. "Can I help you?" He asked, sarcasm dripping off of each word with venom

"My name is Cyrus Kriticos," He replied, sticking out a hand though he knew that Dennis would not take it. Dennis simply looked at the man, bemused and uncaring. He didn't touch anyone – not after . . . "And, I know who you are – more importantly, _what _you are Dennis."

Dennis looked up from the recently refilled shot glass, surprised.

"You can see the past, _people's _and _ghost's _pasts, and you, Dennis Rafkin, can help me," Cyrus continued, suavely.

"Can I?" Dennis questioned. Cyrus nodded curtly. "Maybe I don't want to." Dennis swallowed this shot much in the same fashion as he had the previous one.

* * *

"So, what you're trying to tell me is that we're going to hunt ghosts, bad ass ghosts, and somehow capture them in these glass boxes?" Dennis asked. He was somewhat drunk – still, he knew what he was about to agree to was very wrong. He would essentially be helping Cyrus to enslave souls, but…

But Cyrus was the first person to really accept Dennis - the first person to ever know his secret and accept him, actually. He already felt like Cyrus was his friend, and there was much to gain from this. Monetarily, yes, but also there was the fact that with Cyrus' help, Dennis could find her.

"If I do this, you'll have to do something for me – something more than just paying me with money," Dennis began.

Cyrus nodded. He had suspected that Dennis would want _something_. He was a lowlife in Cyrus' eyes, and there was always some condition or another to get them to do what you wanted them to, "Anything that will get you to sign on."

"We have to find her," Dennis said, pointing to the Obituary in the open newspaper that had been in front of him for hours now.

"And?"

"We just have to, don't ask why."

* * *

Saint Allison Roux died at the age of twenty-five. She was Dennis' first love, the first woman he had ever had sex with. The woman he had spent so many years trying to find, and failing to. She had died in a rather tragic, but usual, way. Saint was stabbed by a man who had broken in to her apartment to rob her. She had only been in the apartment to get a sweater.

It was not quick. She bled slowly to death – Dennis knew this as soon as he stepped into her old apartment. It was painful, and she spent her last minutes sobbing and fighting for air through the lung the bastard had punctured when he shoved his knife into her tender flesh. What Dennis didn't discover until he was standing in her bedroom, however, was what broke his heart.

She was going to see him on that same night. Saint had decided that she was tired of moving, tired of avoiding a fate she knew she was going to accept one day anyway, and just wanted Dennis – plain and simple. As he stood there, close to seizure, he found himself crying for the first time since he was very young.

Cyrus, unenthused by Dennis' display of emotion, flicked on the audio system and waited for Dennis to see what he had come here for. If nothing came, then they could leave this all behind them. If something did, well – Cyrus would have to fix that.

And something did.

* * *

As the end neared, Dennis felt warm and safe. It was a feeling he had not had in almost ten years. There was a warm, white light. A woman….

"Dennis, it's alright. You're safe now." She said, her thin, tanned arm reaching towards him – offering to take his hand. "This is the end. No more suffering, no more worrying."

Dennis smiled and accepted death as though she were an old friend, "I've missed you."

She smiled, "I missed you, too, Dennis."

And then, they walked together to the other side.


End file.
